The Mind of Sebastian Smythe
by sunnyblueskies
Summary: Sebastian Smythe is known as the Other Guy. I'm here to open up to you the little-seen Sebastian. The real Sebastian. Rated T for language and suggestion of sex.
1. Welcome

**So, this little plot bunny invaded after First Time and I had to do something about it. I thought Sebastian was sexy and charming and I want him to stick around, but I'm sure he will only be in a few episodes. Probably also not going to get a lot of character development besides the Evil One who tries to break up Klaine—hence The Mind of Sebastian Smythe.**

**There are a few things that I would like to take note of. One, I would appreciate it if everyone could pretend that Akron and Lima are much closer than 3 hours apart for this story. Maybe like Westerville, Lima and Akron are all 1.5 hours apart. Thanks. Two, I know Wes was supposed to graduate last year, but I can't write a Warblers story without him. I feel like I'm tearing David in half. Three, if anyone knows French really well, I would appreciate the occasional consult. I'm using a mixture of BabelFish and Google Translate, but I would like it to be a bit more accurate. So let me know if you're a French-speaker! And Fourth…If anyone knows names (not CPCoulter characters, please, even though they are AMAZING) of Warblers, let me know because I could only find David, Wes, Jeff, Nick, Thad and Trent. And Sebastian, obviously.**

**Ok! Thanks! Enjoy!**

**And I don't own anything relating to Glee. At all. Not even a little bit.**

I would like to make one thing clear: I am not a bad guy. It may be possible that I have made some unfortunate decisions in my life and even more possible that I like to make those decisions—especially if it fucks with someone else's life too.

So maybe I'm not perfect.

Dalton wasn't anything like my Paris school (it was a boarding school to start, which was a bit of a trip), but I liked it all the same. What I liked were the people. Sons of rich guys who were stuck in Ohio with nothing better to do than sing and play pranks and be bored in our posh little boarding school. The nice thing was that I got to go home on the weekends, which meant Marietta.

"Seb!" she shouted, skipping brightly into my room earlier than should be allowed on a Saturday morning.

"Go away," I muttered darkly and buried my head into my pillow. "It's the weekend."

Etta crawled into bed next to me and curled up. "I'm glad you're home for the weekend," she whispered. I pulled her closer to me and wrapped my hand securely around her mouth, hoping to stifle her noise a bit.

I wasn't exactly a touchy-feely guy, or maybe I was overly touchy-feely. I liked to be intimate with guys, I guess (I'm not afraid to say that I was kind of a man whore). Okay, I guess I'm not an overly _emotional_ guy, but my little sister brings that out in me. I died every week only getting to see her on weekends.

"Seb, you're only here for 2 days. We have to do something fun!" Marietta leaned forward and licked my cheek.

"Gross!" I sat up, pushing her away. She was 15 and attending Carmel High, part of Glee club called Vocal Adrenaline.

She laughed. "Are you bringing your friends here today?"

"Not if you keep harassing them," I groaned, pulling myself out of bed and stumbling around for some clothes while Etta watched from my pillows.

My dad was an international businessman. Cliché, right? We've lived in Paris, London, New York, Delhi and Moscow. He just moved to Shanghai, but my mom didn't want to go. There's something about China that she stands fundamentally against, so she moved us to Ohio—of all places. Something about getting the "real American experience."

Marietta was enjoying it, partly because I would bring the Warblers over on the weekends and she was crushing on most of them. She was lucky she's my sister, because I was pretty sure Thad would have crushed her hopes and dreams much earlier with any other girl. They couldn't exactly afford to alienate me in any way. They needed me to replace their last, apparently God-like, soloist.

Anyway, Mom bought a house in Carmel, but Carmel High didn't seem like something I wanted to subject myself to, so we found Dalton. I drove home every weekend and often friends came to stay. Most of their families lived in, like, Chicago or Cleveland and that wasn't really a weekend drive.

Mari watched as I dumped my Dalton blazer on the ground. "I think your blazer is sexy," she offered.

"Hopefully not on me," I teased. "I'm guessing…Thad."

She rolled away from me and burrowed down further in my covers. "Whatever, you think he's hot too. At least I have a chance with him."

"Don't be too sure," I warned with a shrug. Her face fell comically at the thought that her beloved might be gay. "Oh, he's straight. But you know me; I've never been one for labels."

She rolled her eyes. "If we hadn't agreed to not use the terminology, 'whore' to describe one another…"

"Hey!" I objected, throwing my shoe at her. "Your words are hurtful."

"How is Dalton?" she asked.

"Wonderful and amazing. The Paris of Ohio."

Marietta laughed. "Your sarcasm is overwhelming."

"As is yours. How's Carmel High?"

"It's good. Being part of Vocal Adrenaline is exhausting though." She crawled out of my bed and skipped to the door. "We're doing something together today, dear brother."

I nodded obediently. Etta would always get what she wanted. Even if it meant I didn't try to seduce Thad.

She made me breakfast which would have been hazardous to my health if it was my mom, but Etta had put her time in Paris to good use.

"This is delicious Mari. You'll have to send me food so I don't die of cafeteria food." I gave her my ultimate Flattering Smile. You'd think that as my sister she would be immune, but no. Works like a charm.

"Well, only if you come home every weekend." She stuck her tongue out at me. "And I find it difficult to believe that the food at your thirty-thousand a year private school is all that bad."

"Deal. What are we doing today Mademoiselle Marietta?"

"I want you to take me shopping at the mall."

There it is. That's my sister's form of payback for using my charms on her. So not fair. "What if we go to the local music store and buy new guitars?"

Mari considered that for a minute. "Okay."

If there's one thing that Akron has to offer, it's the bomb-ass music store. Sheet music, CDs, old LP records, musical instruments and even a tiny recording studio in the back. Fuck yes. Mari and I found it on our first day in Akron and we went gone back every week. We had to move our music room twice in the 2 1/2 months we lived there because we kept buying new shit.

What? We're rich, and there were more rooms in our Akron mansion than there were people.

So while Marietta salivated over a new baby grand piano (she already had 2, so good luck getting that one past Mom), I flipped through some old songbooks. The Warblers' selection was getting a little dry, in my opinion, so I figured some new selection wouldn't hurt.

I have only my team's best interest at heart.

A busy weekend with my sister always left me exhausted, which I think is the opposite affect that weekends are supposed to have. I was almost relieved to return to Dalton Sunday night. Two Warblers in my hall, Nick and Jasper were having a Michael Jackson Dance-Off on Nick's roommate's Wii, so I jumped in on that. I was still technically the new guy, and that meant I had to prove myself.

I couldn't beat Jasper, obviously, but Nick stood no chance. The boy was sexy as hell, but he couldn't move like MJ. He could, however, smile that shy little smile that had attracted me to him so much in the first place.

Not to be graphic or gross, but we ended up in my room. He was—you know, I'll just leave it there.

He wasn't there when I woke up though, which meant the boy was learning. I have rules.

Monday afternoon meant Warbler practice. Now, I hadn't been a member of the Warblers for very long, but I loved these guys. They were fun, bored and way too involved in each other's lives. I loved it. Not to mention pretty sweet singers. They had begged on bended knee for me to join after they heard me singing on my way to class one day. I guess I have the kind of talent that they can appreciate.

Practice was moving slowly that Monday, partly because Wes was still missing and Thad did not want to start without him. Thad was muttering darkly about how a Council member should know better than to show up to practice late, etc. while the rest of us were watching an epic Rock, Paper, Scissors tournament between Jeff and Mark.

Suddenly, a rapid ball of Asian energy burst into the practice room and screamed, "THAD! THADGUESSWHO'SHERE?"

Thad turned slowly away from the group to glare at Wes. David grinned at me. Wes could get slightly overenthusiastic at times, as I had learned over the last 2 months, and Thad could get frustrated. "What do you want?"

"Guess who's here?" breathed Wes, bouncing in excitement.

Thad was still glaring, so David smiled indulgently at Wes. "Who?" he asked.

"BLAINE IS WALKING DOWN THE HALLWAY AS WE SPEAK!" Wesley screamed. The entire club started murmuring excitedly, the panic slowly growing.

"Who's Blaine?" I whispered at David.

David looked like he was about to shit his pants he was so excited. "He was the soloist last year but he left to go to McKinley High in Lima."

Suddenly it all made sense. So his name was Blaine. I'd heard a lot about "The Soloist" and now that he had a name (_Blaine_. Has a nice ring to it, yeah?), I was starting to form a picture. "Looks like every one of you guys are about to come in your pants."

David glared, but he was grinning. It's hard for guys not to like me, I've observed. Even the straight ones. "We've been struggling a bit without him."

"Let's sing him something," I suggested loudly. "You know, to welcome him home."

Nick and Jeff nodded enthusiastically. "Let's sing our new song!"

"Okay, 'Uptown Girls' on four," agreed Thad hurriedly. "One two three four."

I was impressed and more than slightly surprised. I'd always imagined Blaine would be tall and disarmingly handsome. I mean I'd heard him described as "sexier than Brad Pitt," which was saying something to me. But he wasn't what I had expected at all. He was short and definitely cute. He oozed something…and it was something that I was familiar with. Sex. I ooze it too, so I was in a good place to judge.

From the moment I spotted him leaning against the doorway, I had to have him. Clearly he was gay (my gaydar is unparalleled) and the look on his face when he watched us sing just about did it for me. There was a kind of innocence in his smile and the lovely hazel eyes that were watching us sing with a hunger.

_Look at those curls_. I watched him out of the corner of my eye for a while, barely even listening to Nick sing (speaking of sex? Um, hello Nick). Clearly I had to bring the poor boy to the attention of the group, most of who had probably forgotten he was about to show up, but I waited until it was my turn to sing and I would have his complete attention. I pulled him to the group, surprised at how little resistance he put up to being pushed around by a guy he didn't know. But he danced a little, obviously glad to be back among the Horde of the Blue Blazers.

I decided to play it up a bit with Mademoiselle Lefévre (Thad has been salivating over the poor woman since he was a freshman. And suffering through years of French, despite the fact that Thad incredibly is linguistically challenged), show him early that I was playful and fun. It was only after that thought process played out that I realized what it meant. Somewhere in the previous 3 minutes, I had decided to seduce this Blaine.

And I was looking forward to it.

I started as I start every time—keep them off balance. I was charming and disarming, flirtatious but not over-aggressive. For me, at least. And by the end, I'm pleased to say that I had weaseled my way into young Anderson's head a bit.

Which was all I wanted. I'd have been disappointed if he'd tried to sleep together or something immediately. Where's the fun in that?

I decided to leave before I scared him off (sex on a stick and sings like a dream? God I'm good), but made sure to secure another date before sweeping off, leaving a gaping and overwhelmed Blaine Anderson in my wake.

Because really, how else could he react to meeting me?

Wes and David pounced on me as soon as I walked into dinner later that night.

"You talked to Him?" hissed Wes. The way he said it made it sound like there needed to be capital letters. Mr. Anderson really was God here. "Isn't He amazing? The most brilliant human being you've ever experienced in the whole of your comparatively insignificant existence?"

I looked at David, expecting to share a laugh over Wes maniacal eyes, but he looked just as intense. Weird. "Um, he seemed great. Definitely cute."

Clearly that was not as complimentary as they were hoping, but hello!, I'm not going to reveal my plan to his best friends. I sat with Thad and Trent instead, leaving the indignant Blaine Worshipers to sulk on their own. Thad was arguing pretty emphatically with a guy I thought I recognized from my math class about something smart. Thaddeus (as his name might suggest) was the intellectual. Pretentious douche, I'd normally say, but he was growing on me.

"Hi Sebastian," said Trent.

"Hey there Trent! What about Warbler practice? Crazy, right?" I leaned slightly toward him and gazed deeply into his eyes as he tried to find the right words. I can be pretty disarming when I give someone my full and undivided attention. Usually for the objective of getting information, but hey.

It's a useful skill to have.

"Yeah. Totally didn't expect Blaine to show up." He smiled fleetingly and turned back to his food. "It's been weird without him."

"I bet." I let that sit for a minute.

"The song was great though. You did an awesome job. I think he was impressed."

Fuck yeah he was. "Totally, thanks. So what's the story on Blaine?" I asked casually.

Trent glared at me suspiciously. Apparently I already had something of a reputation with these guys, but I turned on my innocent face (yes, even I have one of those) and smiled blankly. Finally, he shrugged. "He came here halfway through freshman year because of…problems at his old school. Went to McKinley about three weeks before you showed up. Funny timing, right?"

Not what I was interested in at all, although the gay bullying (problems? What else could he possibly have meant?) would probably come in handy later. "Huh. So, what was he like? Ever have a boyfriend?"

Trent definitely knew something was up now, but luckily he wasn't the smartest Warbler. I picked him for a reason. "No. He was single until the middle of last year. Then Kurt came and it started out as kind of a shitshow. I mean, we were in Code Red on Operation Klaine for a while there, but—"

"Excuse me?" I interrupted politely. "The fuck did all that mean?"

Trent waved his hand. "Wes and David," he said as though that explained everything. Strangely, I felt it did. "They are overly invested in Blaine's personal life. Anyway, they finally worked stuff out, but Kurt went back to McKinley, so Blaine followed."

The Boyfriend. I had been expecting this. There was no way in hell that a guy like Blaine was single. I'm never that lucky. "So what's the up on Kurt?"

"He's a cool dude," Trent said thoughtfully. How helpful. "Very talented. I don't know, I was never an integral part of Op. Klaine, but I always thought Kurt was a bit too…dunno…awkward, maybe? Blaine's really fun and really out there and Kurt's just not like that."

I grinned broadly at my fellow Warbler. _That_, right there, was all I needed. "Cool. Well, I'll see you around T." I tried not to smirk at the absurdly pleased look on Trent's face at being given a nickname by me.

What can I say? I have that affect on people.

And I resent being called a cocky bastard, FYI.

**Just so everyone knows, I will probably stay canon until Tuesday's episode (something about Sixteen?) and then go off on my own. Unless something REALLY amazing happens that I have to use. Also, I have no endgame couple in mind, but I am counting votes.**


	2. Step 1: Getting to Know the Mark

**Hey there. Sorry this has taken so long...updates for now will probably be pretty far between. School and college apps and stuff. But anyway, enjoy this! The actual chapter was another 3,000 words, but I cut it down. So the next chapter might be up soon(ish)!**

**I do not own Glee, the characters or the song (which belongs to the unendingly fantastic Bright Eyes) so don't sue.**

"Thad!" I called, seeing the Warbler dance (literally, he was dancing) down the hall away from me. "Thaddeus Apolo Hardwood!"

He froze and turned on me slowly. I had broken Thad's Rule: No middle name. Never. Unfortunately, after hearing said Rule, I charmed my way into Dalton's Administrative records and discovered the poor guy's middle name. Figured it would come in handy one day, and today was that day.

"What did you just say to me?" he asked dangerously, glaring the single most badass glare I had ever seen come out of those lovely brown eyes.

"You heard me." I threw an arm around his shoulders. "I need you to do me a favor."

"Why would I do that? Especially after what you called me?"

Fair point. Hadn't thought of that.

"Because you really don't want Mademoiselle Lefévre to know how much you're crushing on her. And you don't want the rest of the Warblers to know that the dreaded middle name is Apolo—which I think is cute, by the way." He gave me a positively withering look, but I could see he was close to being persuaded so I barreled on. "And really, you're my friend Thad. I'm trying to better myself for the sake of the Warblers. This favor will really help me with that. And I will do your French homework for a week."

"Done. What do you need?"

Success. I waited as the hallway slowly emptied of students. Breakfast is a big deal for teenage boys. "I kind of have a…a date, you might say, this afternoon."

"It's Tuesday," he said sharply. He was such a square. "No off-campus privileges during the week."

"Very true," I agreed. "But it's important and I know how to get off campus. It's not like Dalton has security or something."

Thad grinned. "Touché. What do you want?"

"Just cover for me today. I have lacrosse practice. All you have to do is run down there and say I started vomiting or fainted because of low blood sugar or something and I'll be there tomorrow." I smiled charmingly. "Please?"

"Coach Sanders kind of scares me," Thad admitted. "Why me?"

"Because you're so trustworthy!" I said. Don't underestimate flattery. I led him towards the cafeteria, the loud din from breakfast traveling through the hall. "If I asked Wes or David, Coach would know something was up. Please, Thad. I will owe you forever."

"Fine." He didn't look happy about it. "How long will you be gone?"

"A few hours, maximum. Just a quick trip to Lima," I said absently, busy planning my escape.

Thad stopped short and sharp. "Lima? For a date? With who?"

"What?" I began to inch slowly toward the doors. I'd slipped up, and this conversation was rapidly becoming one I needed to get out of quickly.

"I think Kurt and Blaine are the only two gay guys within 50 miles of Lima. Who are you meeting for a date?" The look on his face said now was a time for No Bullshit.

"Did I say date? I meant…conference. Meeting? With Blaine." I clapped him on the shoulder, almost to the cafeteria doors. "So, great! Thanks so much Thad!"

Our dear Warbler Mark attacked me when I slid into the cafeteria to avoid the interrogation I was sure Thad was gearing up for. "'Bastian, you gotta help me!"

"I'm not breaking into any more school offices or seducing any teachers," I warned him automatically.

Mark brushed that off. "That was a one-time thing. Besides, it was Nelson's idea, not mine."

"Fair enough. What's up?"

"Dominic challenged me," he said desperately.

I groaned. "Mark we've been over this! You never accept one of Dominic's challenges!"

"I know, but it became an issue of honor and honestly, I'm a Warbler! We're gentlemen and we don't take insults lying down!" He puffed out his chest and tried to look majestic.

"Were you drunk?" I asked. It seemed like the only way he would become the victim of a Dominic Challenge.

Dominic had an endless song database in his brain. It was ridiculous. The boy could start spitting out lyrics on any song that we cared to name. It was nice to have in a singing group, but not so nice when it was turned against us. A Dominic Robinson Challenge involved listening in on a conversation and singing a song that had lyrics that were the same as the last sentence uttered in the conversation. Generally, it was easiest if the conversation was a break up. Dominic had never lost a Robinson Challenge.

Even I had lost a Challenge my first week at Dalton.

Thing was, we'd all learned better so it became difficult for Dominic to find challengees. He had to resort to trickery and insults to get poor suckers like Mark. As a Warbler, I had an obligation to help my stupid friend Mark. Time for the Challenge of Robinson and Russell, #3.0.

"Who's sitting with you?" I asked.

"Wes. He tried to stop me, but I…I just lost my head for a minute." Mark dropped his head to his hands. "I'm dead."

I put my hand on his shoulder. "Never fear my unfortunate friend. I will come to your rescue. Just listen to the conversation, okay?"

He nodded morosely and led me to his table. Wes and Dominic were sitting across from one another, Dominic looking incredibly smug.

I sat down beside Wesley and grinned brightly. "Hey guys! How's everyone's day?"

Dominic turned to Mark as the doomed Warbler sat down next to him. "Challenge starts now."

Mark took a deep breath and nodded, looking at me with pleading in his eyes. Wes scooted in incredibly close to me, entwining our arms and resting his head on my shoulder.

Wesley had an issue with personal space. He isn't think that it exists, and if it did then it shouldn't. Now, I was all for touching (obviously), but usually only when it lead to sex. Wes's touching was just…invasive. What was almost weirder than Wes' lack of regard for common social boundaries was how desensitized everyone at this point.

I wasn't quite there.

But now he was my co-conspirator and hopefully he would pick up on my plan after I started.

"Wesley," I said as calmly as possible. "I'm feeling exceptionally uncomfortable with the lack of space between us."

"_In the space between us…_" sang Mark, picking up immediately. He turned to Dominic. "HA!"

"What?" Wes pouted, his eyes growing maybe three sizes as he gazed up at me from the comfort of my blazer-ed shoulder. "You don't like it when it's just the two of us?"

"_Just. The. Twooo of us_."

"I'm starting to think maybe you want to be more than friends, Wes," I lamented, waiting for Mark to take yet another easy give.

"_I kinda want to be more than friends."_

"Nice one," whispered Wes, before raising his voice to the rest of the table. "Sebastian Smythe, I am 100% straight! But you are kind of addicting. Like a drug."

"_Your love your love your love is my drug!_"

Ke$ha? Really? Dominic was glaring lots of pointy little daggers at Mark, who was grinning happily. Poor Dom. He was going to be very frustrated after this. If I could catch him at just the right time…I turned away from that thought quickly. Goddamn all those pretty boys. Made it impossible to stay focused on Blaine, and we weren't even dating yet.

I was fucked.

"Wes, you know I'll only break your heart."

There was a long silence. Finally, Wes and I glanced cautiously at Mark. He looked fucking panicked. "Really?" hissed Wes. "That was like, the easiest one. _I'm only gonna break break, your break break your heart_."

"I KNEW THAT!" exclaimed Mark, nodding frantically. _"There's no point tryin' to hide it._"

"You are cheating!" screamed Dominic, leaping to his feet. He whirled on us, jabbing his accusatory finger at Wes. "And you two are helping him! I expected better." Dominic stalked out of the cafeteria, everyone within a three-table radius watching him leave.

"What's up with Dom?" asked Mark casually. I shrugged.

"No idea!" exclaimed Wes. "We just like to talk in song lyrics."

Mark grinned. "Complete coincidence, I'm sure."

* * *

><p>Objective Number One of the Lima Bean Date was to see how long it took Blaine to mention the Boyfriend. There hadn't even been a hint of this Lurt boy during our first conversation, and we had covered a lot of topics. Maybe he was looking for a way out, just like Trent had suggested.<p>

Fuck.

There had been a hint. I remembered it when I was already halfway to the Lima Bean (Really? The Lima Bean?), that Blaine had said something about his heart being at McKinley. I considered that for a minute and decided that if he didn't mention the Boyfriend within 10 minutes, I at least had a chance.

It took him 20.

The Lima Bean was the little wannabe-Starbucks in Lima. It was clearly the local hangout, which struck me for two reasons. First, Blaine was clearly trying to send a message by picking such a un-date-like place for us to meet. Two, his McKinley friends probably came here all the time. Obviously, he wasn't trying to hide me.

Interesting.

He was waiting outside when I arrived, dressed in this adorable grey sweater and a bowtie, apparently a staple in his wardrobe. How cute. I jumped out of my car and sauntered over. "Hey there."

He jumped about a mile, but smiled when he saw it was me. "Hey Sebastian. How are you?"

"Doing better every second," I said, taking a moment to appreciate that compact body. He was pretty fucking uncomfortable for how much he smiled when I looked him over. I've found subtlety to be overrated. I opened the door to the Lima Bean for him (it's important to be gentlemanly) and asked, "You?"

"I'm great. Rehearsals for West Side Story are crazy." He took care not to brush against me when he passed. Cute.

"Oh yeah! I'm so stoked to see your play!" The line was long which gave us plenty of time to talk. I kept up the questions about the play and rehearsals, which transformed into a conversation about the best Broadway plays of all time (Book of Mormon, hands down) and by the time we reached the counter, Blaine's discomfort was a distant memory.

"Medium drip, please," he said, pulling out a very fine leather wallet. I stopped him.

"This one's on me," I offered. Normally I wouldn't have on a first kind-of-date, but the smile on his face made it worth it. Pleasantly surprised. I like to mix things up. The barista turned to me for my order. "Same, please. Can I get that with a shot of Courvoisier?"

What? It's habit.

The barista gave me this _look_ like she wanted me to melt into the floor, so I just smiled my most charming smile. It took her about three seconds to blush and turn away. While she got our coffees, I watched Blaine for a minute. He was stifling a grin at my coffee order and shaking his head. Really, he was a tad too comfortable around me to know what my intentions were. I mean, I'm sure he had some inkling—no way everyone is as friendly as I am—but really, the boy was somewhat oblivious.

Time to make things a bit clearer for Mr. Anderson.

"Two medium drips!"

Blaine grabbed the drinks, handing me one. "She left you her phone number."

I glanced down at the cup and saw a hastily scribbled phone number in black sharpie. Pathetic. "Look at that."

Blaine was grinning. "I can't believe you asked for a shot of Courvoisier in your coffee!"

Oh, my little Ohio Innocent. I followed him to a table, trying to decide how best to make myself perfectly obvious. "I forgot how lame this town is. When I lived in Paris, I drank it like it was mother's milk."

I enjoyed the disbelieving look on his face, the little snort of laughter. Yum.

Blunt was probably the best way to go.

* * *

><p>The Boyfriend showing up was an entirely unexpected and extremely unfortunate event, but sometimes you've got to roll with the punches (and I'm pretty fucking awesome with improv). He saw me as the sizable threat that I am and immediately began to mark his territory. Two could play that game.<p>

A quick mention at fake IDs and Kurt was crawling out of his skin to show me up. The poor boy was practically begging for Blaine to be stolen away. I stayed at the table, watching Kurt cling to Blaine's arm as they left. Gross. The Boyfriend was so not what I was expecting for Blaine. I thought he'd be dating someone more like me—someone hot and fun and confident. Instead he somehow managed to find this borderline cute, squishy little ball of gay.

I was disappointed.

What really pissed me off, though, was how tame this guy had made Blaine. To me, Blaine was this human-shaped being made of energy and sex. The second that the boyfriend showed up, he was just a teenage kid living in Ohio. And a whole bunch of first to cross off the list? How obvious, and how incredibly hot. Of course he was a virgin. It radiated and oh how I wanted to leap across the little Lima Bean table and attack that head of curls.

What was great was how uncomfortable I had made dear Blaine. He was scared of me now, and more than slightly intrigued. The way he'd jumped when Kurt showed up…priceless. I'd made him speechless. Fuck yes.

My coffee, however, was empty and the entertainment gone. In just under two hours, I was back at Dalton. So not worth the drive. A half an hour with Blaine before the Boyfriend dragged him away? Screw that.

But my dear friend Owen was the fake ID guy of Westerville, so I jumped on that. He was on the lacrosse team with me and, if I knew the lacrosse team, would be headed to the cafeteria in about five, four, three, two, "Hey Owen!"

I caught him just leaving the locker room. He was about six foot five and had red hair. Red. Pretty awesome goalie though. "What's up Smythe? Why weren't you at practice? We suffered without our star player. Coach was pretty pissed."

"Yeah, sorry. I had shit. Listen," I fell into step beside him as we walked from the athletic field up to the main building where food lived. "I've got a friend who uh, lost his license. I told him you could hook him up with a new one."

Owen stopped short and looked around cautiously (as though all of Dalton didn't know what he did), then nodded. "Yeah I could probably get something together. By when?"

"Tomorrow night?" Short notice, I knew, but the Scandals thing had been a moment of fucking inspiration. You gotta run with that shit, man.

"Fuck, Smythe. I can't have anything good by tomorrow night!"

"I know," I assured him. "Just give me whatever you've got, just for the night. One night and I'll have them both for you by tomorrow afternoon. Swear."

He glared suspiciously. "Them?"

Oops. "Two friends lost their licenses?"

He was still glaring—intensely enough that I actually considered apologizing—but then he nodded tersely. "Fine. They won't be great, but they should work for something low key."

"Just Scandals," I assured him. "Nowhere that actually gives a shit!"

"Let me see what I got." He dropped his gym bag on the floor in front of the cafeteria doors and began to shuffle through it. "I have a 38 year-old named Logan Tanner from New Hampshire and 23 year-old Chazz Donaldsworth from Hawaii."

I took them and looked them over. Mr. Donaldsworth's had a huge rainbow across it. Passive aggressive, I know, but I had just found the perfect ID for the Boyfriend. I wasn't much for subtlety. Overrated, in my opinion.

"Fantastic. These are perfect. How much?" I asked, reaching into my pocket for my wallet, but he shook his head.

"Just get them back to me tomorrow and in good shape." Owen picked his bag up off the floor.

I was touched. "Thanks man."

He shrugged. "You've been a good customer."

True.

"I'll give them back to you tomorrow during Chem, yeah?" He nodded and I smiled brightly. "Thanks so much man. I owe you!"

Owen waved one more time before disappearing into the cafeteria, probably pissed that I had kept him from food for so long (we lacrosse players like our food) and I left, pocketing the fakes. I'd drop the IDs off before I went to Scandals. Everything was playing out okay.

My roommate, Justin, was studying in our room. Dear Justin Thorne was the greatest fucking roommate EVER. He was funny, chill and had a fucking library of video games that he just loved to share. His parents owned a major league baseball team, which meant free tickets when the season started. Justin also spent an awful lot of time either at his girlfriend's house in Westerville or in his best friend's room (who had a single), which meant I got the dorm to myself a lot. That was nice because I liked to have guys over.

Justin understood.

So yeah, we got on pretty well. Though a passionate monogamist himself, he generally supported my revolving door of friends and liked to help me with my seduction tactics. He was a mathematical guy and I think he saw it as some sort of challenge with a formula just waiting to be figured out. I swear he took notes on our conversations and his observations.

He barely even looked up when I came in. "Hey man. You weren't at lacrosse. Thad said you were sick?"

I laughed. "Vomiting all over."

"Right." He put down his book. "Where'd you go?"

Normally I'd tell someone poking into my business to go fuck themselves, but Justin was big on sneaking out because of his girlfriend who lived literally within eyesight of Dalton. He was the one who showed me the best ways to get out. "Just ran to Lima for an hour."

He raised an eyebrow. "That hardly seems worth it."

"Hardly was," I agreed. "There's this guy, but it didn't turn out too well."

Justin made a sympathetic noise. "Straight?"

"That would hardly be an issue," I scoffed. "Boyfriend."

"Ah. Tough break, man." He picked up his book again. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

The vote of confidence. Much appreciated at a time when my own confidence in my ability to break up a strong couple was waning. "I'm working on it."

* * *

><p>I was distracted.<p>

All day, I'd been thinking about how best to get Blaine alone for a few minutes. I had no good ideas. The Boyfriend was like sticky glue. But there's no telling what types of drunks people are.

Unable to hold back, I called Blaine during lunch. He picked up sounding extremely confused. "Hello?"

"Hey man!" I said. "I got the IDs. How should I get them to you?"

"I have Glee tomorrow from 5:30-7. You could just leave them under a windshield wiper on my car."

"Sounds great! See you at Scandals around…what? Eight?"

"Yeah, see you then."

"Gonna be awesome, man!" And then I hung up. Not my best phone conversation, I'll admit, but the point was gotten across. Previously unimagined levels of psych-itude were being reached every minute that ticked closer to eight.

Which is why I was already in my dorm getting dressed at five. Justin was lounging on his bed with a bag of gummy bears and a fat book written in Spanish or something. He tossed me a handful of gummy bears and smirked.

"That shirt looks pretty identical to the one you were wearing before."

I glared at his reflection in the mirror. "Read your damn book."

"I mean, I'm not really the best judge, but I'm pretty sure you're putting way more thought into this than is necessary."

"You've found your true love," I said bitterly. "Some of us are still searching."

Justin laughed. "Like you will ever voluntarily seek out true love. Bullshit."

Touché.

"I'm just trying to look good." I pulled off my shirt and grabbed another one from my closet. "What about this?" I asked Justin.

He just shook his head, laughing.

"Where are you off to?" asked Nick, leaning against the doorframe. I whipped around, never more glad to see that boy in my life (that's a lie).

Justin rolled his eyes from his bed. "He's sneaking out."

"Off-campus, more specifically," I corrected cheerfully, grabbing the cute Warbler's hand and pulling him inside. I sat him on my bed and twirled around slowly, showing off my clothes. "How do I look?"

"That's his fourth outfit," said Justin helpfully. I flipped him off without even bothering to turn around. "I'm not very good at this apparently. He had to bring a gay guy into the mix."

But Nick was ignoring Justin. From the expression in his eyes, I looked very, very good. "Um, yeah," he said finally. "I like your shirt."

"Thanks." I cannot even begin to explain to you how I tempted I was to jump that boy right there. He looked _sogood_ in his sweats and hoodie (I knew from experience that he didn't like to wear anything beneath that zipper), but I had to remember the objective. Blaine. Nick was a fantastic friend and sexy as fuck, but he had Jeff. My coming to Dalton couldn't interrupt something that had been in motion since those two were freshmen.

Justin apparently saw something in the way I was looking at our visitor, because he leapt off his bed and began tugging on the collar of my shirt. "Pop it, man."

Nick laughed, the spell broken. "What a preppy white-guy thing to do, Justin."

Justin shook his head frantically, still pulling at my collar. "I dated this girl once who said that on certain guys, popped collars are super hot, or something."

I raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I don't believe you."

"No, it's something about how it looks like someone was just trying to pull your shirt off. Sex, man." He gave one last tug, then stepped back.

Nick appraised Justin's handiwork then nodded, apparently impressed. "I see that."

"Really?" I trusted Nick to evaluate my hotness factor. He was invested, Justin wasn't.

But Nick was now nodding quite emphatically. "Absolutely. Now that he said it, that's all I can think about."

"Right!" said Justin, running intervention yet again. He and Jeff were pretty good friends, which I think is why he was trying so hard to keep Nick and I from jumping one another. "Shouldn't you get going? It's almost 6."

"Yeah." I glanced at my watch. "Got to drive all the way to Lima!" I kissed Nick on the cheek and winked at Justin. "Don't wait up for me honey!"

* * *

><p>I stuck each ID into its own envelope and scribbled their names on the front. It was extremely important to me that Kurt got the Rainbow ID. The drive to McKinley was long and torturous. The school itself looked like something out of an eighties horror movies. I'd seen pictures of schools like this, but I'd never actually seen one. A lifetime of cushy private schools can be deceptive. There were already people that I recognized from Warblers' descriptions of New Directions' members (scary ass guy with a mohawk and some sexy cheerleaders) coming out of the school, so I found Blaine's car and stuck the two envelopes under the windshield wiper.<p>

_Got the IDs_, came the text message about fifteen minutes after I pulled out of McKinley parking lot.

_Awesome. See you soon_? I texted back. _Text me if you needs directions_. He was so vanilla. I had to poke a little bit.

_Kurt's the DD._

_So I'll just give you directions? I assume he doesn't know what West Lima is…_

_We're fine. Thanks._

I grinned and turned my attention back to the road. At least Blaine would be drinking. I got to Scandals around 7:30, ready to scout the crowd and make sure there were no unfortunate exes waiting to attack.

My fake ID cost me $200 and Owen week getting it ready. It was fucking perfect and said I'm from New York (a little nod to the future I had planned for myself). Mr. Shane Steele, 22 years old and an organ donor (although I wouldn't want to give them my liver).

Obviously, it was better than was necessary for this little backwater gay bar, but it was nice to have for any trips to bars in Akron or other nearby cities.

The guys at Scandals knew me, despite the fact that I'd only moved there 3 months or so previously. Gays are friendly in Ohio. They especially like whores like me, who are good for a quick fuck. Sorry, but it's true.

I hadn't been by in a few weeks, since last time I was there, well…the man of my dreams had a boyfriend who was _not_ happy to find me sucking him off in the bathroom. So not my fault.

I went straight for the bar, eyeing a few closeted and incredibly uncomfortable guys who were lurking in the shadows. Those ones are always the most fun. So much pent up sexual energy.

But not tonight.

"One gin and tonic, please. And a beer and one Shirley Temple. Extra cherries." Suck on that one Kurt. I made it about halfway through my drink by the time I thought I heard the lovely voice of Blaine drifting through the crowd. I twisted on my barstool and yes, there he was, and the malignant growth that was Kurt attached to his side. They looked ridiculously out of place and so very uncomfortable. Ah, innocence. Having never had any myself, I appreciated it in others.

"A beer for Blaine," I said as I handed it to him. "And for Kurt, a Shirley Temple with extra cherries! I heard you're the designated driver. Like all the time." I smiled at the kid (honestly, it was weird seeing him in a bar. I felt like a pedophile just _looking_ at him) and he smiled back, this defensive smile. It was almost like he thought he stood a chance. Cute. "Cheers boys! To the glamorous life."

The music was bad but loud. Blaine, it seemed, had a passion for dancing drunk or sober and he was soon practically bouncing off of his barstool. Kurt, however, was fucking glued to the plastic. Seeing an opportunity, I drained my drink and went out on the dance floor, sending away any guys who tried to get close. I needed to be approachable for my conquest. It took Blaine all of five minutes to join me.

Success.

And Blaine was fun. Like _really_ fun. He wasn't afraid to dance or sing.

"I love this!" he shouted.

I laughed. "What?"

"Dancing! Music! Having fun!" He executed some strange dance move that involved some shimmying and a lot of eclectic hand movement.

"You're a fun drunk, aren't you?" I said, trying to get a bit closer to him without seeming obvious, but I was tipsy so my movement was somewhat impaired. That, and Blaine's moves were flailing and I did not want to get hurt.

"What?" he screamed. "I can't hear you the music is loud!"

I laughed. "Nothing!"

* * *

><p>I would like to blame France for my promiscuity and general lack of morals. I mean, everyone knows the stereotypes, so it wouldn't be too much of a surprise. I could also blame my mom's talk with me about how being gay would lead to me dying at an exceptionally young age of HIVAIDS so I acted out and stuff, but that might not be entirely truthful either. It would be nice, but so overplayed, if I had some beautiful boyfriend who had ruined me forevermore, but that would just be a flat-out lie.

Honestly, I'm just this way.

I just like guys. I like the way their bodies feel and the little noises they make when I touch them _justthere_. I like how much more casual guys can be and mostly? I like how different they all are. I went through a phase of straight guys, which was fantastic and challenging. Do you know that when faced with the right guy 1 in 5 straight men will have sex with him? 1 in 3 if they're in a committed relationship.

I guess I'm that right guy.

It's a burden, but one I bear with enthusiasm and dedication.

* * *

><p>I stumbled out of Scandals about 20 minutes after Blaine left. Best night <em>ever<em>! I had a feeling Blaine would be a fun drunk, but I had no _idea_ he would be a horny drunk. Too bad his girl—I mean boyfriend was there. I stored that little tidbit of information away and made it to my car, fumbling momentarily with the keys before the lights flashed and the locks popped.

I pulled out of the parking lot and started toward Westerville when I noticed a certain curly-haired SexStick wandering along the side of the road. _The fuck_? I slowed way down and rolled down my window.

"Hey there!" I called. Blaine looked up, startled, and gave me a pathetic wave. "Can I give you a ride somewhere?"

He hesitated, but nodded. I pulled over and he clambered into the passenger seat. "Thanks. I didn't really want to walk all the way across Lima."

"No problem." I turned up the heater. It was cold outside and I had no idea how long Blaine had been walking. "Where am I taking you?"

"East Lima." He looked darkly down at his hands, then something occurred to him. "Are you okay to drive? We're not both about to die, right?"

I laughed. "No. I knew I had to drive all the way back to Dalton. I'm fine."

"Good." He settled back into a sulky silence. Clearly something had gone very wrong between the lovahs.

"Why were you walking, if you don't mind my asking?" I casually navigated toward East Lima, trying to pretend like the question really wasn't that interesting. I didn't care how close Blaine came to breaking up with the Boyfriend. Not even a little bit.

"Something stupid. He doesn't like what I do or how I get when I'm drunk."

"Huh. That's funny. I kinda like Drunk Blaine." I smiled at him and turned on the radio. Poor guy didn't need any deep conversations when he was this hammered. By the second verse of the song, Blaine was singing out drunkenly and fuck me if it wasn't beautiful.

_I heard you're scheming new pyramids_

_Another big idea to get you rich_

_Make a plan to love me sometime soon_

_You said you had your foot in the door_

_You buy and you sell, you buy some more_

_Make a plan to love me sometime soon_

_Life is too short_

_Death doesn't ask_

_It don't owe you that_

_Some things you lose_

_You don't get back_

_So just know what you have_

_And make a plan to love me sometime soon_

_Life is too short_

_To be a fool_

_I don't owe you that_

_Do what you feel_

_Whatever is cool_

_But I just have to ask_

_First you want to ride off into the Sun_

_Then you want to shoot straight to the Moon_

_Make a plan to love me sometime soon_

_When you are young the world is a Ferris Wheel_

_I know we will grow old it is lovely, still_

_Make a plan to love me sometime soon_

_Will you make a plan to love me?_

_Will you make a plan to love me?_

_Will you make a plan to love me sometime soon?_

"I love Bright Eyes," he murmured. His head dropped back to the headrest and his eyes fluttered shut.

"Yeah, me too." It was late and streets were empty, so I felt okay turning away from the road to watch him (we were stopped at a stoplight. I'm not stupid). I must have lost track of time a bit, because he dropped his head to the side and opened his eyes, a goofy smile growing.

"The light's been green twice," he said.

Fuck me.

I hurriedly stepped on the gas, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. Blaine started to giggle. "You know, I've always wanted to get Bright Eyes lyrics tattooed on me somewhere."

Christ. My voice registered a few octaves lower when I asked, "Somewhere?"

We were talking about Blaine's 'somewhere' body parts. Come on.

"Yeah. And a stoplight that's green. Like, I'm always on 'go,' you know?"

I held back a laugh. "Okay. Where is somewhere?"

"Somewhere secret. That not everyone would see." He leaned his chair all the way back and watched as the streetlights passed by, one by one. I had no fucking idea where we were, but I was going to keep driving until the boy in my passenger seat either stopped talking or passed the fuck out. "You know, like my back or my leg or something."

"I have a tattoo," I blurted. His head whipped around to stare at me with huge hazel eyes.

I would like it to be noted that I never shared that information. Never.

"Really?" Blaine breathed, his voice just a gasp. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I have a vivid imagination, and it sucked that his voice was getting so…faint and breathy.

"Yep."

"What is it?"

"It says, 'always and forever' in French," I admitted. He looked a little skeptical, so I elaborated. "I was a lot more emotional when I was younger."

He chuckled. "Was it for a special someone?"

I waited a long time, trying to decide if Blaine had merited this information. Finally, I said, "I had a brother."

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "That's a good reason to get a tattoo, though. Losing a loved one, I mean."

I nodded. "But your idea is a good one. With the Bright Eyes lyrics, I mean."

Blaine was staring at me—this incredibly intoxicated yet somehow very clear stare—and it was making me uncomfortable. I stayed fixed on the road, trying to ignore the burning where his eyes were boring into the side of my face. "You're good, Sebastian."

"I'm what?"

"Good! I think you're a good person."

I know it sounds pathetic and stupid, but I started to choke up a bit. People called me a lot of things, but good wasn't one of them. Ever. Not once they got to know me, anyway. "Why do you say that?"

"You picked me up on the side of the road."

"My intentions were less than pure, I can assure you. You're just a lot more drunk than I was anticipating."

"You're not taking advantage that I'm drunk."

"Doesn't count if the guy's too drunk to make the decision on his own. Rules, man."

"You got a brother for your tattoo." He frowned. "A tattoo for your brother."

"Like you said, good excuse to get a tattoo." As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I wanted to suck them back in. It hurt to even say, like I'd punched myself in the chest. Sometimes my unending snarky-ness could get out of my control. Blaine was silent.

"Don't say that," he said finally, quietly. "And you just passed my house."

I smiled grudgingly and flipped a u-turn, pulling up in front of a huge white house, picket fence and all.

"Thanks for the ride," he slurred, his fingers fumbling with the door. I leaned swiftly across him and pulled on the metal handle. Suddenly I was far too close to Blaine, our faces—_lips_—mere centimeters apart. And God I was so tempted but this was wrong. Like I said, it doesn't count if he's drunk. I reached down slowly because, there was something in his eyes that said he was close to giving in, and unsnapped his seatbelt.

"I'll see you," I promised and leaned back into my half of the car. He nodded, confused, and stumbled out of the car. I waited until he'd made it all the way inside before I slammed my head against the steering wheel. "You stupid _fuck_." I bashed my head a few more times then quickly put the car into drive.

Because really, I was not a stupid drunk. I was a very very good drunk—always completely in control and non-sentimental. Apparently, Blaine took that away from me.

Asshole.


End file.
